


stelliferous

by decidingdolan



Series: us two [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Second Person, especially while he's lying on top of said pilot, finn's pov, lingering thoughts about Poe that wouldn't leave Finn alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re holding his hand, and you’re wondering how in the galaxy did you luck out on the best man of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stelliferous

**Author's Note:**

> (adj.) having or abounding with stars.

 

> _a small truth:_
> 
>   
>  _you move me more in a moment than_  
>  _the earth moves in a year._
> 
>  
> 
> _**\--Salma Deera,**  [Letters From Medea](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Famzn.com%2FB015UNL67M%3Ftag%3Dlifeinpoetry-20&t=NWFjZjM2N2I0Mzc5YjI2YzNkMmNiNGJmYTUwODZlYzUxZjZkZjMzMSxvYWpURW1CdA%3D%3D)_

* * *

 

You’re holding his hand, and you’re wondering how in the galaxy did you luck out on the best man of them all.

Sure. Alright. Maybe Poe’s not that perfect. Maybe he’s not a stature of what the perfect man should be—and how should you know. How would you know. You broke out of the pack, of the life you’d always known, to save him, and he swooped down from the stars, firing shots to save you.

There’s warmth in his eyes. Infinite fondness. The eyes that took you by a slow embrace and said, _“Hey,_ hey _. This is home.”_

He’s lying underneath you, arm behind his head. You’d had your arms on either side of him, when he reached out and grabbed your hand. Placed it above his heart. Fingers entwined, tight and certain.

You met his eyes then, almost in an unspoken question. He’s staring right back up at you, this wonderful, gorgeous, amazing pilot of a man. His eyes on you, and only you.

It’s rare that you got moments like these with him, when you could feel his heart beats, one by one. Throbbing underneath your entwined fingers. Answering your thoughts.

 _You’re not kidding yourself, are you._ Rey threw that sentence at you over dinner. _I’ve heard it a thousand times. Jessika and Snap have heard it. Everyone’s heard it._

_He’s into you._

_Come on, Finn._

_Can’t you see that._

Short answer: not in a million years.

Long answer: You couldn’t. You couldn’t see what they were hinting so much around you about, even if they’d gotten you the finest microscope. You couldn’t sense this…this…air that he had around you, that they wouldn’t stop talking to you about.

You couldn’t find, not with the best blaster they had, the point—the heart, the center, the logic of it all.

Why would he, Poe Dameron— _the_ Poe Dameron—ever choose you?

Over someone else. Over the choices he must have had. Over…anyone.

Because you’re the new kid, a fish out of water. A trained killing machine without a name. You had a past. You never knew your future. You wanted a change.

And he gave you a life. 

Supple lips took yours in, and Poe tasted like nostalgia. A half-forgotten memory, a longing, bottled inside him. He was your returning—arriving somewhere, some place familiar. He was your coming home.

Those lips lingered, tongue played around with yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart beats now. Harder and multiplying up a hurricane.

The room’s quiet, soft. It started out as kissing—lazy, innocent, prolonged. Kissing, pressed against the wall, on the door. A tumble onto the bed.

He came bouncing to you with news (more days off for him), and you thought to celebrate with a kiss.

Those lips lingered, and you suddenly found it a feat to stop.

The first time he kissed you was a lightning flash, a shock. He’d known you had never, and he wanted to be your first (this he told you about five dinners later).

You’d been blind until then. Dismissed his frequent drop-ins as friendship. Passed off his little glances at you as he walked away.

His long stares. His eyes meeting yours, first thing when he stepped into a room.

And you’d just kind of accepted you being there, waiting for him to arrive from some mission from a faraway planet, as normal.

As the state to be.

Because being with him was natural. Being with him was learning how to live, all over again. Laughing with him was knowing… _feeling_ …the definition of happiness.

Watching him was forgetting time.

And he’d kept coming over. Checking in on you. Leaned on your wall. Asked if you were all right and if he could see you again.

It’s not as though you’d never thought about it—the idea of him and you. Dreamed about it, even, and woke up with uneasiness in your stomach, partial emptiness in your mind, and sticky white substance down on your pants.

He’d looked at you and smiled, plenty, but there were those times he bit his lips. Lifted his eyes up at you, bit by bit, and you understood in an instant what death while breathing must have felt like.

There’s want, such want. Desires you never knew existed burning in the back of your mind. He lighted them fires, didn’t stay to watch them burn, and left you with the ashes.

He kissed you one day, and those fires were left alone no longer.

It was him on your bed and you in his sheets. Mornings watching him cook breakfast and nights arguing with him over droid lessons.

 _He’s a terrible cook._ Rey was smiling during your daily holocall. _Burnt toasts._

_But what do I know._

_He’s your man._

He’s your man. She’d remarked, with mild sarcasm, most of it harmless mock-weariness.

He’s your man.

You liked that.

You liked that, and to think, you’d thought it impossible before.

To call him yours and have him stay. To want more with him and to have more. To let him stay.

That he would stay.

That he’d waited. Patient, a teacher. Slid his hands on your chest, explored, and schooled you on pleasure. Touched you and tasted you and sucked you up. Swallowed you in and caressed you with his lips. His eyes.

Thank stars that you, quick learner that you were, proved able to respond in kind.

He moaned and he muttered, sweet little nothings and the roughest swear words. Strings of curses and names you only called each other in bed. Writhed on the sheets and screamed your name. Red, hot and wanting. Cheeks tainted, sweat and blush. Hips pressing up against yours and precious, soft pleas asking you to please, please put him out of his misery.

You loved watching him beg.

It was such a feeling. Owning the power in your hands. Make him tremble, make him shudder. Let him cry out for you.

In your bed. Underneath you. He was yours, nothing else.

 _Hey._ he whispered then, lips sneaking a quick kiss at your nose.

 _Hey._ you answered back, realized you hadn’t let go of his hand.

And that he hadn’t said a word.

_You thinking about me?_

Heat. Lying on top of him like this. It felt new, still. Every time. You weren’t rushing. You weren’t taking your clothes off. It wasn’t moans and screams and the deepest urges.

It was you and him, watching each other. Staying. Like this.

 _You._ you said, kissing the back of his palm, the one pressed to yours. _Of course it’s you._

_Who would I be thinking about—now that you got me like this?_

Those lips curled into a smile. You felt his eyes on yours, surveying and interpreting and trying to comprehend your thoughts.

And that stripped you down, naked than you’d ever been. Laid bare and ready, subjected to his eyes.

 _What do you know,_ he’s drinking you in, still. Extended stares that lasted forever. Long glances that had you wondering about time. (And it was as if he wasn’t tired of looking at you.

As you were with him.)

 _‘s always been my plan._  

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this fanart: https://twitter.com/r_n_g_r_n/status/690025039371051008.
> 
> so much so that i sacrificed sleep for this, burning down the candle and writing in the middle of the night, mad inspired, what have you.
> 
> #sentimentalnighttimeFeelings and all that. A mix. Amalgamation of all that I felt, once upon a time, what I wish(ed) to feel, what I might have felt. About someone(s). Imaginary, real. Temporary, permanent. Take your pick.
> 
> Life's a drawing board. Sketchbook.
> 
> I've had my fair share of pages torn apart.
> 
> thank you, lovelies.
> 
> x
> 
> feel free to drop me a line at http://dolanx.tumblr.com/ if you want to chat stormpilot or anything. anything at all. <3


End file.
